


Ash

by kirschtrash



Series: JeanMarco Week [5]
Category: Shingeki no Kyojin | Attack on Titan
Genre: A LOT of Angst, Angst, Ashes, JeanMarco Week, M/M, Shiganshina District, day 5: ash, jean kirstein - Freeform, jeanmarco, marco bott - Freeform
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-10-24
Updated: 2014-10-24
Packaged: 2018-02-22 10:36:37
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,850
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2504753
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/kirschtrash/pseuds/kirschtrash
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Jean can't take life and it's hardships anymore; its too much to handle for him. He feels like he is about to explode, like a time-bomb that constantly ticks away.</p><p>But Marco helps him rise from his ashes, in a rather different way.</p><p>Jeanmarco week, Day 5: Ash.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Ash

**Author's Note:**

> Hehe okay this turned out a little too angsty than expected. Hope you enjoy it! *and I hope it doesn't stray away from the prompt too much*

_Listen to "Battle Cry" by Skillet for the feel(s)._

 

* * *

 

 

Jean was tired.

Of all this.

He trudged across broken foundations of fallen homes in the ruins of Shiganshina. The recruits were made to gather any dead soldier they could find, so that they could collect them and cremate them. They planned a mass pier, where they could burn them all.

Jean was tired. Of all this.

He and Marco went around a house, with the roof fallen flat over the house. He bent around, searching for people. Marco was doing the same at the other end.

Just as Jean bent, he saw something from his peripheral vision; a lone wall stood among the rubble. He leaned a little, and saw a pair of shoes. He turned, and went over there.

As he faced the wall, tears stung his eyes, and he gagged.

There leaned a small little girl, covered in blood that started from her forehead. Her eyes were open, lifeless. And in her arms, she held a stuffed doll, which she thought might have saved her.

He turned away, and vomited everything, even though he hadn’t eaten a single thing since morning. He didn’t even know what came out.

He was tired. Of all this.

Marco exclaimed from behind, and came to rub soothing circles on his back, but it still didn’t fix the fact that Jean was gasping and panting for breath, trying to ease the panic bubbling inside of him.

It wasn’t until he faced him directly and embraced Jean, did Jean feel the panic subside. He rested his damp forehead against Marco’s shoulder, breathing deeply. Marco leaned his head against his, and ran soothing fingers through his short, buzzed hair from the back. It made Jean sigh.

"Are you feeling better?" Marco asked quietly.

Jean nodded, clearly giving away the fact that he was not.

After a pause, he asked, “D’you wanna talk about it?”

Jean shook his head meekly, trying hard not to fall apart in his arms.

 

* * *

 

 

That night, all recruits gathered the soldiers they could find, and made a huge pier. Jean brought the little girl too, for good measure. She most definitely did not deserve to rot there.

All of them placed the late-soldiers and people, and one proceeded to burn it all. As soon as the flame touched the bodies, everything lit up, creating a large, roaring and crackling flame, that turned everything instantly in to ashes.

Jean’s eyes trained on the flames, contemplating that everyone burning right there, like that little girl, had a life. They had a soul, but all that was turning in to ash. All the life and energy they contained in themselves was converting in to useless heat, and ash that would flow away eventually; as if it contains nothing of importance.

Jean couldn’t stand it any longer. He gulped thickly, and marched away, leaving the rest behind.

He briskly walked, and entered his cabin. He decided to sleep early, even though he wasn’t sleepy at all; he was sure he had not slept in days.

Just as he was buttoning his shirt, he heard someone say from behind him:

"Jean?"

It was Marco; of course it was. Only he’d be this concerned.

He didn’t turn though; he asked from where he stood, “Uh, yeah?” He tried to sound as casual as he could.

"Why’d you leave early?" he asked.

Because I just couldn’t take it any longer.

"Oh, its nothing. Just tired, is all." he lied, still refusing to make eye-contact with him.

"Could I just… Talk for a second?"

"Sure! Shoot."

He sighed, and then began, “Its just, at the pier, it was really hard to see everyone we knew - or even people we didn’t know of - die, and then burn away like that. I couldn’t take that anymore. It was so hard to… But I’ve also noticed… That its taking its toll on you too.”

Jean stiffened, not daring to look at him.

But Marco continued, “I’ve been noticing you, Jean. You aren’t the same you were for the past few days. You play with your food, you zone out all the time, and you hardly sleep, and I - I just-” he heard him sigh in defeat. That sound broke Jean from the inside.

"Jean, Jean, Jean. I need to know what’s happening. I need to know. You can’t do this on your own, and neither can I…"

I heard him take steps towards him, until he was exactly behind him. He leaned his forehead against Jean’s shoulder. He still didn’t turn.

He was afraid he would fall apart.

"Come back, Jean. I’m right here…" he whispered.

At that, he was done.

Tears started falling. He tried his best to stop them, but to no avail. He bit in to his lower lip till blood came out, and even then he couldn't stop breaking.

“ _Goddamn it_ …” he whispered, his voice heavy.

He let go.

“ _GOD FUCKING DAMN IT!_ " he screamed, clutching his head, pulling ferociously at his hair, the tears spilling over and over. He didn’t try to stop, he didn’t try to clean them, he didn’t try to stop breaking.

Jean was so fucking tired.

Marco shifted, so that he hugged his torso from his back. He dug his head in to the crook of his neck. He held him, keeping him safe and sound in his warm embrace, while Jean broke himself.

He kept on screaming and crying. He turned and hugged Marco, digging his face in his neck. Marco ran his fingers through his hair the same way he did in the morning. It made his calmer, but his sobs still didn’t finish.

All while letting go, he confessed everything: he wasn’t okay. He wasn’t okay at all. He felt tired, he felt drained, and he felt done. He felt done with life. All these battles, all these deaths of innocent people, and all these hardships they had to face, were too much. They were taking their toll on him; the fact that he could do nothing made him feel like shit. He was losing hope day by day. He even lost hope in himself; everyday, he’d feel like it was his last. And although he had considered the idea more than once, he was still afraid of the clutches of Death.

After he had let out everything, Marco held his face in his warm ones. He made him look in to his brown, honest, and sincere eyes.

"Jean, its okay. Its okay to feel scared sometimes…  _Look at me_.” He demanded, his voice hard, but all the while slightly wavering.

He made Jean look in to his eyes. And so he did this time, hardly. He felt so small right there, near Marco, who was ten times the man Jean would ever be.

"Its okay. You can feel scared. Everyone here feels scared for their life; even I do. There’s never a night when I don’t think that ‘this night might be my last’. But I don’t let it eat me up; and neither should you. Hell, I hold on, because I know someday we’ll make it through all this, and we’ll be together in the Military Police Brigade; together, just like we promised. So please, Jean; don’t keep it inside of you. Its gonna ruin you. Don’t leave before we go together. I’m here for you; I always will be."

Jean’s lower lip wobbled, and looked down in embarrassment. A tear leaked from his eye.

Marco lifted his face from his chin, making him face him again.

He wiped away his tears with his fingers, and stroked his cheek soothingly.

"Its okay, Jean. Its okay. Soon, you’ll see we’ll make it out of here. We’ll help this world from the Titans, and we’ll defend the King. We’ll do it; together."

"Promise?" Jean asked.

"Promise." he confirmed, smiling.

That night, they slept together in each others arms; Jean head lay over Marco’s chest, hearing his steady heart-beat, and Marco’s chin rubbed against Jean’s top hair.

Jean remembered listening to his steady heart-beat, and felt that it would beat for a lifetime.

 

* * *

 

 

But little did Marco Bodt know.

Little did he know that one day, not too soon, his steady heart-beat would diminish.

And little did he know he would never fulfill his dream.

That day, when he searched for more corpses, he saw his best friend’s body, halved in the most brutal way, one eye of his glazed, the other missing.

That day, he gagged, with no one rubbing soothing circles behind his back.

That day, he was the one who picked his best friend’s corpse himself.

That day, he was the one who dropped his corpse in the pier, to burn them.

That day, he was the one who saw the once-mighty Marco Bodt, slowly turn from flesh to ash.

Jean felt numb the whole day. He knew he’d feel numb forever now.

From the crackling flames, something sparked, and fell out of the pier. Jean bent and picked it up:

It was a piece of bone. He pressed it in his palm, and it turned in to ash.

He looked it and wondered;  _are these even Marco’s ashes?_

Tears welled inside his eyes, as he broke down the way he did a lifetime ago.

When he entered his cabin, he brought the ashes with him. He sat at the edge of his bed, and looked at them intently. He had a strong sense that these were Marco’s; like a sixth sense or something.

All that soul and beauty and good that Marco had, all has now turned in to ash; just burnt soot and bone.

He was gone; it was such a difficult thing to process. It was as if he would come from behind, and hug him the same way he did back then.

Tears spilled from his eyes, as he noticed the reality, as he looked down on his palm; he was nothing now. Just a pile of ash.

"You promised… You fucking promised…" he whispered to himself, as he fell apart once more, all over again.

He clutched the hand with the ash near his heart as he sobbed helplessly, feeling incredibly alone in the room. He would have done anything to just hear his voice, see his freckled face, feel his warm embrace; just once more.

Sniffling, he realized something: alive or not, ash or not, Marco was something way more. He was not a pile of dust, ready to flow away. No. He wasn’t like that.

He always advised him to never give up.

Marco would never like the fact that Jean would be giving up soon. He wouldn’t. And for him, Jean decided he would try to survive. For Marco. As difficult as it sounded, he had to do it. For Marco.

He did not want to hate himself more than he already did by disappointing Marco’s memory.

That night, he cried himself to sleep, thinking of Marco’s heart-beat while doing so, his ashes near him.

But he promised himself something:

He would rise, from Marco’s ashes. He would try.

**Author's Note:**

> sorry not sorry huehuehue


End file.
